


the elven star

by Arya_Silvertongue



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Chosen One, Evil Secret Society, F/M, Georgie Is Alive But Missing, M/M, Original Character(s), Royalty, Self-Fulfilling Prophecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-09 14:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Silvertongue/pseuds/Arya_Silvertongue
Summary: William Denbrough is the son of renowned council members whose brother went missing the same time mysterious heptagrams started appearing all over the kingdom.  To find Georgie, he enlists the help of Richie, the notorious blue blood with underground ties and an interesting relationship with the Crown.Stanley Uris, son of the high priest and destined to be the greatest mage in his bloodline, is sent to the palace to complete his training. There, he discovers an ally in Lady Beverly, daughter of the general and best friend of the prince.Stepping outside the university for the first time in their lives, Michael Hanlon and Benjamin Hanscom are in for the greatest adventure of the millennium. Their biggest puzzle yet: exactly how such a prophecy and destiny all fit in the tiny form of one Prince Edward.





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Young Benjamin! Come in, come in! I’ve been waiting for you.”

He hesitates for a second before crossing the threshold, the darkness swallowing him whole. A few moments later, his ears pop and the room is revealed to him in a wave of warm light. _Illusion._

“I hope you’ll excuse the mess, I haven’t had time to clean in over a century.”

The professor’s voice has a teasing lilt to it, but as he catches his eyes and sees an unmistakable glint, Ben is suddenly not so sure where the humor ends and the truth begins.

“Don’t worry, sir. You should see our quarters.”

True enough, the room he shares with Mike can sometimes be a nightmare. Books will be placed everywhere, the walls are tacked with papers and photographs from floor to ceiling, and despite any amount of effort from the both them, some things just vanish when they need it the most, never to be seen again.

“I’m sure you can chalk it up to youth, Mr. Hanscom.” He gestures to the seat in front of him and pours Ben what he assumes is tea when he takes it. “I, on the other hand, have no such excuse.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that, so instead, he takes a sip of the drink offered to him, finding it sweeter than expected. The professor watches him the entire time, the expression on his face as unsettling as the portraits that line up the hallways of the university.

“Are you and Mr. Hanlon prepared for your journey this evening?”

It’s exactly the kind of conversation he was waiting for, and he’s thankful for the chance to talk and avoid the old man’s piercing gaze.

“We are, professor.” And they are, truly. It seems like they’ve been preparing for it their entire lives. “Mike’s been up all night so he’s still sleeping. I actually came to get the books he asked to borrow.”

It comes out rushed, and Ben fights the urge to wince at how rude he’s being. He _does_ want to grab the books and leave as soon as possible, but the professor need not know that.

“Of course.”

However, he smiles at him just so, and he knows it’s a hopeless case.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as the older scholar stands and moves to the shelves. He waves his apology with a weathered hand, and it serves to embarrass Ben more.

“May I know what this is, professor?” He lifts the cup of the mysterious concoction that he’s actually beginning to like, hoping the change of topic will shift the attention away from his social ineptitude. “I don’t think I’ve had this before, and Mikey’s skilled at chemistry.”

The use of _chemistry_ makes him snort. Mike Hanlon’s infamous fixation on herbal medicine and questionable elixirs has landed them on more sticky situations than they’d like.

“I call it _Agua Agatha_.” The professor returns with three tomes, and he carefully deposits them on Ben’s lap. “It’s the last drink my wife made before she passed away.” Several emotions dance in his tired eyes and Ben barely catches grief before they settle into pensive. “It’s basically just flavored water with tarragon.”

“She must’ve been lovely.” He doesn’t know what made him say them, but Ben feels a certain ache for the lost look in his teacher’s face.

The professor smiles, gratitude so apparent even Ben sees it. “She was.”

Ben allows himself to feel pleased at the exchange, shifting his attention to the items in front of him.

As expected, the ‘very important resources’ Mike requested are just more books about herbs and spices, and Ben mentally clouts Mike for having him get up so early in the morning for them.

“Is there a place in particular you’d want to visit?”  The professor pours more drink for himself, seeming genuinely interested in what Ben has to say.

“I-well,” the young student stutters, mind drifting back to the bound journal upstairs where an endless list of places has been written down for years now. “We won’t exactly have much time for sight-seeing once we arrive at the citadel, sir. It is _still_ an academic trip, after all.”

It’s a research journey to catalog the Grand Forum, one of the biggest and most momentous events in all the lands. It’s also his first time outside the institution’s red walls, and he’s fortunate enough to experience it with his best friend. There will definitely be sight-seeing.

“Franklin Square?”

He flushes even more at the inquiry, mortified that the professor somehow manages to guess the second destination on his list.

“You’ll love it, son. It’s a masterpiece.”

“It is!” Well, there’s no point in denying it now. “I-I mean, well-” He unravels at the professor’s raised eyebrows, and he bows his head in shame. “Thank you, professor.”

The amused smile on the old man’s face stays there for a while, before the lamp to his right flickers, and Ben sees him bristle.

“I’m afraid that’ll be all for today, young Benjamin.” His smile changes and he stands up, the indication that the younger man follow suit silent but apparent. “Tell Michael I can’t wait to hear all about your trip to the city.”

When Ben almost reaches the door, he hears the professor call out one last time.

“And Ben?” He sees him hesitate, before soldiering on to give Ben one last smile, this time similar to the one before. “If Mr. Hanlon doesn’t like any of the books, just tell him to keep it, alright?” He’s not quite sure, but the professor seems almost nervous. “I’m sure he’ll find good use for it.”

As he steps out into the carpeted hallway, Ben can’t help but think that the final reminder doesn’t seem to make any sense at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two in the back entrance. Three a couple of tables away. Another one by the balcony. _Shit._ There’s another pair to his left.

“Are you certain he’s coming?”

He eyes the guy in front of him, reefer so neat and expensive they might as well be holding up neon signs that says, _TAKE ME, I HAVE MONEY._ He’s also checked his fucking pocket watch a grand total of thirteen times now.

“Oh yeah.” He’s delighted to find that his poor attempt at a serious face continues to irritate the other man. “I’m _certain_ , alright. He should be here in about…” He blinks twice when his watch starts blurring before his eyes, the optic serum Bowers gave him proving to be a bust yet again. “Huh. He should’ve been here thirty-eight minutes ago.”

Actually, he knows his guy should’ve arrived thirty-eight minutes and twenty-three seconds ago, but his contacts are never known to be punctual. Efficient, yes. But never on time.

Plus, he gets a sick sort of pleasure watching the twitch in his current boss’s brown eyes.

“Mr. Humphrey.” It takes a second for him to realize that the statement’s addressed to him. “For your sake, I hope you’re not wasting time.”

For a moment, he suddenly wishes he told him his name’s _Quintus Ennius_ or some shit, because somehow, this guy still makes _Humphrey_ sound posh.

“Really?” He’s not easily provoked, but the lack of a pronoun attributed to the word _time_ made the statement downright foreboding. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Mister-Sir. We have all the time in the ‘verse.”

“It’s _Liam_.” The guy corrects, looking inches away from a conniption. “M-my name’s Li-L...Liam.” Man, was that hard to watch.

“Sure, Mr. Liam.”

They stay in silence for about two more minutes when the bell on the front door jingles and even he has to sigh in relief.

“About time, G-man! I seriously thought-”

They turn and see the dwarf by the entrance, flanked by leather-clad Crown officers on both sides.

“…well _shit_.”

“Sorry, ‘chee. They threatened to snip the beard.” Despite the circumstance, he still appreciates Gordon’s humor, constant even at the receiving end of a gun.

“You two! Slowly back away from the table!” One of the shorter masked cops positions a long sword just below his chin, and the sheer audacity tells him this one’s probably a newbie. Easier to take down, then. The two behind him? Not so much.

He risks a glance towards his companion, who’s been oddly calm the entire time.

“Ge-gentlemen,” _Liam_ attempts to stand, but the same asshole novice takes out a shiny blaster with his right hand and points it at him.

“I wouldn’t dare if I were you, scum.”

His boss looks so offended his eyes go comically wide. The sorry excuse for a police officer clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing. If Liam’s unblemished skin is not enough to give away his noble birth, then surely the House ring on his left pinky is. He was never quite successful in figuring out exactly what it is in the thirteen hours he’s known the man, but there’s no denying the fact that the piece of jewelry is a family heirloom.

He should know. He has one.

“Now. I’m not gonna repeat my-eRRRGH.”

Liam shoves something hard to the officer’s neck. When the imbecile goes down, he barely hears, “DUCK” before he’s crouching behind his chair. He hears bodies dropping to the floor, followed by Gordon’s Underground drawl.

“What the _fuck_.”

Every single soul in the restaurant has been rendered unconscious, save for the three of them.

Clearly-not-a-Liam, the only one who doesn’t seem fazed by what happened, takes something from the pockets of one of the officers before grabbing the briefcase the dwarf toted with him. Gordon, the stupid fool, seems too stunned to stop him.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” He manages to grab his satchel before following the guy towards the backdoor. “Hey, wait a minute!”

As soon as he steps out into the alley, he is thrown against the wall by some unseen force. Trapped like a fridge magnet inches from the ground, he’s sure he looks like a proper idiot.

“Don’t ever follow me again,” the Liam guy tells him, holding what looks like a hybrid remote that seems to be the thing that’s controlling whatever is keeping him pinned to the bricks. “Here’s your money.” He drops a smaller bag next to his satchel. “Our deal ends here. I won’t hurt you if you and your friend will _promise_ not to follow me.”

He wants to tell him that promises don’t mean shit in this side of the realm, but there’s a wild look in guy’s eyes at that moment. Something that looks an awful lot like desperation.

“Look, man,” He starts casual, unable to do negotiations any other way. “G and I can back off, but you’re naïve to think that your problems end with us.” The guy’s façade flickers at his words. “Between us and the bunch of Crown operatives you just knocked out? Trust me; we’re the least of your concerns.”

For a long moment, Liam doesn’t say anything, hand still hovering over the remote he clutches like a lifeline. He curses Gordon, who still hasn’t arrived and is probably scavenging weapons off their fallen opponents.

When it goes on for too long, he opens his mouth to lay down a compromise, but he’s suddenly dropped like a sack of potatoes.

“What do you suggest I should do then?”

He rubs his sore butt and gives the guy a glare before ducking to sling the satchel’s over his shoulders. “Simple arithmetic.” He throws the bag of cash back to his new partner. It’s painful to part with that much money, but he’s on a whole new level now. “You have cash, I have skills.”

Okay. That sounds way better in his head.

“…right.”

“I _mean_ ,” He picks up the disc-shaped magnet that fell off the wall with him. “You’re clearly into some illegal shit at the moment. Rebellious phase or not, I don’t particularly care. Fact is, the _authorities_ will be looking for your ass, and I know people who can help you hide it.”

He clearly doesn’t want to take the offer, but whatever trouble he’s in, hooking up with a smuggler and a dwarf seems like his best option at the moment. _Checkmate._

“The name’s Richie.” He holds out his hand, his own pinky no longer bearing any marks that indicate ring-wearing of any kind. Surprisingly, the guy doesn’t comment on the state of his nails and shakes it.

“Bill. Bill Denbrough.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Despite his fickle relationship with his own abilities, Archmage Stanley of House Uris cannot deny the simple fact that magic is incredibly useful.

It is magic that makes the Citadel the impenetrable fortress that it is. A thousand mountain trolls can march for the throne, and a thousand mountain trolls will perish.

It is also thanks to magic that the battle scars he sustained from his skirmish with roots in the garden this morning have all but vanished. He was never particularly skilled in dealing with magical _or_ non-magical plants, and mandrakes are vicious creatures that the goddess should never have allowed to exist.

Lastly, magic can be very much to one’s advantage when you’ve decided you simply had enough. It allows one to end difficult things before they escalate, with little to no effort.

Take the ongoing council meeting, for example.

Stan knows all it will take is a simple flick of the wrist to fling Councilman Bernard to the other side of the Verona River.

“You have to understand, Your Grace. With the Forum a mere fortnight from now, we cannot afford to waste our resources on a wild goose chase!” the councilman insists. “It is simply not the wisest decision!”

Duke Norbert Keene, cousin to the queen and the unfortunate man at the receiving end of Bernard of House Bowie’s rousing speech, flinches at the outburst.

“I- er, I understand your concerns, councilman. I really do,” says the duke, who is already starting to sweat underneath his fancy doublet. “But you see…the queen-”

“-listens to you, Your Grace.” The councilman begins to smirk, and Stan has a sneaking suspicion that if the man had a moustache, he would’ve twirled it then and there. “The realm knows you have the ear of the crown. And she’s a reasonable woman, our queen. I’m sure she can convince House Denbrough to wait until _after_ the celebrations are over before they launch a large-scale operation. Then, they can search ‘til their hearts’ content.”

Stan gives his watch another long-suffering glance. He’s been watching the pudgy aristocrat disregard reasonable petitions and propose outrageous sanctions for the past three hours now, and the headache he’s developed since is only starting to get worse.

_Remember everything._

It was just after lunch when a rather cheerful servant knocked on his door and delivered a message inscribed in a small roll of parchment. It was an unusual - not to mention outdated - way of doing summons, but when he opened it, he somehow understood exactly why no other method could’ve worked.

_Imperial Council Meeting. Duke’s Chambers. Remember everything._

Remember everything. Stan desperately wishes memory elixirs exist.

He knew that the moment his father sent him away, his life will never be the same. When he stepped into the duke’s solar that afternoon, surprised that they were all expecting him, he looked forward to a learning opportunity that will help him familiarize the dynamics of the members of the royal court.

And he’s learning a lot of things, alright. Chief among them is that councilmen are dull, old snobs.

“I believe you’re right, councilman.”

And the duke is a spineless craven.

“I believe he’s _not_ , Your Grace.”

Stan looks up from his incredibly uninteresting wrist and sees the man sitting directly in front Councilman Bernard give the duke a tight-lipped smile.

“Senator Blum,” the duke acknowledges, the same time the councilman squeaks a rather undignified, _“Pardon?!”_

The young mage watches as something in the room shifted. The Senator, who up until then was only observing the proceedings the way Stan did – in silence but with barely concealed disgust masked by a practiced smile – straightens and addresses the room in a manner more regal than Duke Norbert can ever hope to accomplish.

“The disappearance of children all over the kingdom is a good deal more serious than we take it for.” His voice is grave, though Stan can’t help but hang on to his every word. “I’m sure Councilman Bernard has an understandable reason to be worried over how a manhunt will affect the Grand Forum. We are, after all, aware that House Bowie will be hosting this year.” The councilman makes a choking sound a few seats to Stan’s right, but no one pays attention. All eyes are on Senator Blum. “But with countless delegates from other lands and institutions coming to the Citadel, a scandal left unsupervised will not be good for the Crown.”

The logic is simple enough, but it seems to take a full minute before the rest of the council comprehends the implications of his statement.

Stan, already way ahead of them, knows that it won’t take long before they all defer to the senator’s wise judgment. Somehow, Stan also knows that the Duke will find a way to take credit for the decision, if the unmasked glee the mage senses in him is any indication. Though for some reason, Blum doesn’t seem to mind, and it piques the young man’s interest.

“News of missing children will be hard to hide, Your Grace.”

Herbert Blum is the only senator in the Imperial Council – the highest council of the land, and the Crown’s own personal advisors. Without a magical lineage to speak of, he should not hold so much power. But his words, and the careful way he speaks – like he’s directing the meeting but keeping his true intentions close to his heart – are all executed with so much subtlety it would seem some sort of illusion is in play.

“Very wise as usual, Senator,” the duke says, looking pleased that things are going his way. “Do you have anything to counter Senator Blum’s argument, councilman?”

They all turn to the heir of House Bowie. With much difficulty, Councilman Bernard shakes his head.

As they begin to discuss the details of the search, Stan spends the remaining time keenly observing the mysterious senator. He knows next to nothing about him, as he does not belong to any of the old or new houses. Dressed in the simple purple garb of legislators, he does not at all look like someone who can influence squabbling fairies, much less the highest council of the realm.

After much deliberation, Stan takes a deep breath and begins a spell that will hopefully give answers to some of his questions.

He starts the incantation, and it’s too late before he realizes it is a very stupid decision.

As he feels Senator Blum’s mind opening up to him, the older man turns to face the mage, and Stan is met with a mental whiplash that sends him leaning back against his chair.

Violently.

“You all right, boy?” one of the councilmen next to him – the one with the braided beard – asks.

All the others turn to look at the mage - the duke with concern and Councilman Bernard with a touch of annoyance. Stan brushes their inquiries with a smile and apologizes for the interruption. Only when they resume their conversations does he turn to look at the senator. Blum, who was the only one unbothered by his sudden display of idiocy, has a twinkle in his eye.

“It’s a good thing you’re with us today, young mage,” the senator tells him, his full attention weighing heavily on Stan’s shoulders. “Your father was once a member of this council, and someday, so will you. It’s best you remember everything you learn here.”

_Remember everything._

Sitting there, feeling as dumb as the last time be challenged his father to a duel when he was eight, Stanley Uris knows, without a doubt, that it was Senator Blum who arranged his presence in the council meeting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Seriously, Ben. Are you _sure_ these are the only books Professor Carson gave you?”

Mike turns to face Ben, who remains seated on the armchair nearest to the window. Outside, the mountains along the borders of the university are nothing more than a dark, violet blur.

“Ben! Are you listening to me?”

“Hmm?” Ben snaps out of his mind fog and gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Mike. I zoned out.”

For a split second, Mike is gripped by an urge to snap at his best friend. Almost immediately, he feels ashamed for it. His current distress is not Ben’s fault, after all.

“I just wanted to know if you’re positive you got the right books,” he explains. “Professor Carson gave you _these_?”

He waves two of the three tomes Ben gave him that afternoon. Interesting enough, Ben shudders at the sight.

“Albert Carson is a scary man,” is all he says.

“What?” Mike watches, half in confusion and half in awe, at how quickly Ben pales. “What are you talking about?”

His friend shrugs. “You should’ve been there when I got inside his study.”

“Why?” It takes all his strength to stop himself from shaking the details out of the guy. His mother’s nagging and final reminders the entire day completely distracted him from the fact that Ben got to visit Professor Carson’s _personal_ quarters. “Was it as big as we thought? Could you count the shelves? I bet you couldn’t count the shelves.”

Albert Carson is one of the pillars of Ironworks University, the second largest school town in the realm, and the most populated. Mike and Ben’s home their entire lives. He, along with ten other professors from other universities, hold the seats of The Eleven, esteemed elders of the Crown’s School Board. Carson taught the basic sciences, and has a particularly fondness for Chemistry, Michael’s favourite. With the exception of Professor William Hanlon, who taught Botany, Albert Carson is Mike’s most beloved instructor.

And he blames his mother’s insistence that he finish packing the day before to the exhaustion that rendered him unable to pick up the books he borrowed himself.

As he tries to ignore Jessica Hanlon’s voice in his head, he misses Ben’s puzzled face.

“Shelves? Dude, his room was _spooky_.”

Ben must’ve wanted to discourage Mike’s hero-worship of the man, as the grin he displays completely throws him off.

“Really? How?”

“ _Spooky_ , Mike. _Spooky_!”

Sometimes,  Mike can’t quite understand exactly how Ben’s mind works. _Spooky_ sounds very interesting.

“I know what spooky means, idiot! I’m asking _how_.”

Unfortunately for Mike, Ben has developed the skill of reigning him in when he’s close to madness. It keeps them both alive, but it never fails to leave Mike mildly annoyed.

“Can we stop talking about Professor Carson?” Ben pleads. “We were talking about something else before you mentioned him. Can we go back to that?”

Mike waits for a couple more seconds, standing in his full height and crossing his arms as he looked down his best friend. Something about their encounter clearly traumatized Ben. Though to what degree, it’s a little hard to tell. Ben is relatively easy to ‘spook’, and he’s already had a general wariness of old people, developed from birth.

“I’ll drop it for now. But I’ll get you to talk, Hanscom. Just you wait.”

Ben laughs, and all thoughts of Albert Carson begins to fade. “So you say, nerd.”

Mike gasps in indigence and starts to look around for something harmless but significant to hurl at the insolent brat, but the door to their train compartment slides open, and in comes Lady Margaret Davies.

“Good evening, boys. You all settled?”

Mike fights the snicker bubbling up his throat at the sight of Ben’s red cheeks.

Miss Davies is a historian from the Citadel, who visited Ironworks in hopes of recruiting students to participate in the Grand Forum. Mike and Ben are only two of the twenty-three young men and women who volunteered to leave home for the first time to document one of the most important traditions in all the lands. Mike for adventure, and Ben for the half-elf leader of the expedition who smiled at him once and called his illustrations brilliant. And also for adventure, he insisted to Mike last week.

“We are, Miss Davies,” Mike says, not trusting his friend enough to form any coherent response. As he turns to Ben, he silently snorts at the grateful look on his crimson face.

“Very well,” Miss Davies nods and brushes them off with a gloved hand, “I’ll leave you to your unpacking. In an hour, we’ll be leaving Ironworks borders. Supper will be at the tenth bell.”

As soon as the door is shut, Mike throws himself on the part of the couch that is not littered with his things and howls with laughter.

“Not funny, Mike,” Ben complains, sinking further in his seat.

“It’s a little funny,” Mike counters as he struggles to catch his breath, “You froze in your chair and turned into a fire beetle. You can’t tell me that’s not hilarious.”

Before he can grill Ben into oblivion, however, the tenth bell echoes across the whole train, and they both jump in surprise.

“Guess it’s time for dinner now.”

Mike can’t help but laugh at Ben’s poor attempt to change the subject.

“I wonder if there are any cucumbers in the kitchen.”

“What? Why?”

He drapes an arm on his best friend’s shoulders as they go out, no longer plagued by the initial stress brought by his cluttered things.

“I’m craving for salad, and it seems I already have all the tomatoes I need.”

Mike laughs again when Ben tried to squirm out of his embrace. As they turn off the lights and slide the door shut, a book falls on the carpeted floor with a loud thud, all but forgotten.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Their cab takes another turn, and Bill officially gives up trying to count the number of twists and turns their journey has taken to ensure him a safe return should the worst case scenario happen.

“Do I know this man, R.T.? I gotta tell you, he looks awfully familiar,” their driver says, giving Bill a once-over through the rear-view mirror. Okay. Giving Bill the _ninth_ once-over through the rear-view mirror. He’s been shifting back-and-forth between keeping his eyes on the road and appraising Bill since the moment they stepped inside his vehicle.

“Give it a rest, man,” says Richie, who spoke for the first time in the entire car ride.

It’s been an unsettling thirty minutes, to say the very least.

Richie - or _Humphrey_ ,  as Bill knew him during the first part of their acquaintanceship – has been very silent as soon as they left his dwarf friend in Downtown Costello and hailed what’s got to be the most suspicious-looking taxi Bill has ever laid his eyes on. It has a _skull_ gear lever, for crying out loud.

“Seriously. I think I-”

“Just drop it, all right!” Both Bill and their driver jump at Richie’s outburst, and Bill silently clocks the firm grip his new friend has on his satchel.

“M’just saying,” the sketchy cab driver mumbles, shrugging and making yet _another_ turn.

It takes another twenty minutes, an underground tunnel that made Bill hold his breath he felt like passing out, and about three more turns before they reach their destination: a diner along a dirt road in the middle of nowhere.

Richie gives their cabbie a silver coin Bill does not recognize and steps out, barely waiting for him to follow suit before he’s making a beeline for the burger joint with the ominous neon sign. Even against the backdrop of a star-less sky, the tiny restaurant leaves little to be desired.

“Hey! Hey, wait up!” He holds the briefcase he’s carrying close to his chest as he half-jogs to catch up with his uncharacteristically silent companion.

Fortunately, Richie stops about three yards from the diner’s entrance and waits for him.

“Can you at le-least tell me where we are?” he asks, unwilling to enter the place without so much as an exposition. Richie blinks at him with tired eyes, and Bill notes that he’s lost the steady and _precise_ way he looks at people hours before. “It’s just- I haven’t the f-fuh- faintest idea where this p-place is, and you’re still very much a s-s- _stranger_ so-”  He stops and feels himself flush when he sees Richie giving him an incredulous look. “Right. Sorry.”

Somehow, Bill is sure that the stupid expression on the guy’s face is because of the word _faintest_ and not due to his stuttering. For a moment, he looks at Richie and sees the face of a friend, but he quickly dismisses the thought with a cough.

“You wanna make sure I didn’t bring you all the way here to just kill you and grab the package?”

It sounds moronic, but it sums up Bill’s worries in the most succinct way possible.

“Well, yes,” he hears himself say. “I was worried about- well, I was w-worried about that.”

Richie gives him a bright grin, and not for the first time, Bill wonders just how a smuggler in the outskirts of Costello’s most dangerous district ended up with such good teeth.

“Don’ worry, Billy boy.” Bill cringes, though whether it’s for _Billy_ or _boy_ , he’s not quite certain. “I’ll tell ye if oi’m naw longer able ter keep yessir noggin. There’d be a warnin' oi'm sure aboyt dat.”

His face must’ve shown his utter confusion, because Richie barks out a crude laugh, clutching his sides for good measure.

“C’mon! Let’s get a hot meal and I’ll give you the rundown. Caroline’s got the best meatloaf this side of the Verona.”

They enter the diner and Bill holds his breath once again.

Caroline Feeny, owner of _Carol’s Diner_ , is an ogre.

Somehow, that’s the least peculiar thing about the place.

For starters, it is way, way, _way_ bigger on the inside than it appears on the outside. It looks like a diner still, only one that has expanded into a mess hall not unlike the cafeteria in Magnolia Central Station, on the.... _good_ side of Costello District.  

Bill’s not even _sure_ if they’re still within the borders of Costello.

The place is deserted, which is also not unusual as the clock behind the counter tells them it’s half an hour past midnight. There are only five other customers inside. Three bald men wearing sunglasses and berets six tables down, another - younger by the looks of it - ogre by the counter, and a hooded figure in the corner nearest to the entrance.

“ _This_ is the best burger joint in town?” he asks Richie as soon as they take their seats.

Richie merely shrugs, shit-eating grin still on his face. “They only serve burgers on weekends.”

He fights the urge to smack him with the thick menu.

“Doesn’t really look like the ‘happiest place in the realm’, Richie,” he says.

“Oh but it is, honey.” Much to Bill’s horror, Caroline is already by their table the moment he realizes he’s overestimated his ability to whisper, looking ready to take their orders. “It sure is.”

Bill gulps. “I-I’m sh-shu- I’m sure it is, m-madame.”

Richie, the traitor bastard, snickers one last time before giving their hostess a confident wink. “Merry Midnight to you, Carolina! How’s your day been?”

Caroline gives Richie what looks to be a practiced eye roll, and shares a conspiratorial look with Bill before noting something down on her wallet pad.

“I know what you’re havin’, boy. What I wanna know is what _this_ handsome young man you brought with you likes for his Midnight meal.”

Richie clutches his shirt in mock offense before shrugging at Bill. “Told ya’. Happiest place in the realm.”

Bill tries to ignore Caroline’s compliments, but ultimately fails as he feels a blush creeping up his cheeks. He moves to sink further into his seat and glare at Richie.

“I don’t even know _where_ this place is,” he mumbles.

Somehow, Caroline finds his statement absolutely delightful, as she brightens up and smacks Richie by the side of the head.

“Ow!” Richie complains, rubbing his ear.

“Richie, where are your manners! We barely get Citadel people around here, and you still don’t give them the proper tour.”

Richie immediately looks around to see if anyone heard Caroline, a look of alarm in his eyes the moment the ogre mentioned _Citadel_. Bill knows he should panic as well, but the idea of a tour with _polite_ company for once seems too appealing.

“I’ll bring you today’s special, kid. Free of charge. After we get good food on your belly, Richie and I will show you around.”

Bill looks at the empty diner. “Around?”

Amazingly, her smile just becomes brighter.

“Welcome to The Barrens,” she exclaims, whipping the hand holding the wallet pad and pointing it all over the place. “The happiest place in the realm.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Bev _hates_ pixies.

The tiniest members of the fairy folk are often considered harmless, if not entertaining. Their playful nature and fondness for parties and music make them regular attendees in royal balls and gatherings. Their proclivity for gossip has also made them privy to news and information faster than most papers and outlets.

But the Lady Beverly Marsh would swear up and down that pixies have a personal vendetta against her.

Countless missing shoes, mismatched ribbons, and even rumors here and there have been orchestrated over the years, and she knows exactly who the culprit are. This antagonistic relationship has been going on for longer than fae and man can remember, but to this day, Beverly still can’t quite figure out exactly why those wingless, flying mischief-makers despise her so. She herself has a list, but when pressed for time, Lady Marsh can narrow down those reasons into three:

 

  1. They _love_ dancing.
  2. They have a particular aversion to redheads.
  3. Their favorite pastime is telling the crown prince stories and conspiracies he completely and utterly believes.



 

“They did _what_?”

The serving girl who last saw the prince gulps at her question. In her defense, Beverly knows she must look downright terrifying right now. She just returned from her daily trip to the armory and is still wearing chainmail. The weapons inspection that would normally take her no more than an hour stretched to four when she discovered that some of the guards love to play card games while on duty.

The chamber that contains all of the Crown’s weapons and gear. Protected by poker champions. _Goddess help her._

“There was ‘nother one of those signs this morning, my lady. Another child,” the trembling girl explains.  “One of ‘em little ones offered to show His Majesty. He said to tell only my lady when yous’ arrived.  Told me not to tell no guards.”

“Of course he did,” Bev mutters, already feeling the headache that’s about to make her day even worse. “Do you remember how many pixies were with him? Can you describe them to me? How long ago was this?”

The poor girl seems to shrink with every question. “Ca-can’t quite tell, my lady. A tree of ‘em approached His Majesty down the gardens, high noon. But I only seen one when he left. Don’ know what happened to ‘em others. Pro’ly left.”

“Left?” It usually takes sundown for those cretins to leave the court, and Beverly knows this. She once stormed the library, in search of ways to keep the sun from ever rising again.

“Yes, my lady,” the girl says. “They seemed jittery this morning. Frantic, even.”

Something heavy settles in Bev’s stomach. With a sigh, she turns her gaze to the balcony and sees the Western side of the Citadel, all the way across Franklin Square.

_Where are you, Eddie?_

“Forgive me, my lady.” The girl’s voice interrupts her train of thought. “I really din’ think he was in trouble, the prince. He seemed kind, you see. I only ever seen him in the screens. It’s my first week, my lady, and he was ever so kind.”

Beverly finds herself biting back a groan. “That’s _how_ he gets away with trouble. I don’t even _understand_ why he’d take off the way he did. It’s unlike him! Ever since-”  She stops herself just in time. With a deep breath, she tries to think straight. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

The girl appears startled, but responds nonetheless. “Kay, my lady.”

This makes her smile. “All right, Kay. Can I ask you a favor?”

A pause. “Well- it depends, my lady.”

Beverly is taken aback. “Oh?”

“The last time a highborn asked me for a favor, I found meself with a missing prince.”

Beverly laughs, finding she likes this Kay girl more and more by the second. “Don’t worry Kay. This won’t be anything like that. I just need you to wait here while I look for our wayward royal.”

Kay nods. “That all, my lady?”

“Yes, and…” Beyond the palace walls, she watches as people go about their day, completely unaware of the problem at hand. “And if I don’t come back by sundown, there’s something very important I need for you to do.”

As soon as Kay swears she understands all her instructions, Beverly bolts towards the Eastern towers, where Eddie’s room is located. The protective wards and spells are strongest in Eddie’s quarters but there are no guards, a feat Eddie fought for and won when they were both six and ten. It wasn’t an easy battle, and the queen was no simple opponent, but in the end, the prince got his way and guards no longer roam the Eastern wing, something Beverly always found unsettling. Now, it proves to be useful, as her panting and muttering alert no one but the gargoyles.

“ _Close your eyes and think of home_ ,” Bev recites as she gets to top of the tallest tower. It takes a few seconds, but as she hears the sound of gears shifting, the double doors open, and she walks into the room.

Contrary to what most people think, Eddie’s quarters do not at all appear to be that of a prince’s. As her best friend spends most of his time with the court physician or in his workshop, his room is left as nothing more than a place to sleep in whenever he has time to come up and rest on a proper bed. Beverly also doesn’t spend much time in his chambers, both because the prince is almost always elsewhere, and because the queen frowns upon such...impropriety.

 So it completely takes her by surprise to see the room in the state she finds it in.

Three of the four stone walls are decked with files and photographs from floor to ceiling. Numerous cut-outs and items are tacked to multiple boards, connected by different-colored strings. Eddie’s bed is also piled with stacks of books and folders. An enormous trunk sits beneath it, looking for all the world like it’s about to burst any moment now.

At the center of it all is a mahogany table, with a hologram map of the Citadel and a compass on top of it.

“My lady?”

Beverly nearly jumps at the voice, and as she turns around, she finds Kay outside the open doors.

“Apologies for interrupting but I- I intercepted a message meant for the prince. Told them I’d give it to ‘im meself. “ Kay opens her palm and hands her a small, disc-shaped glass. It contains a familiar red emblem that depicts a crown on a shield. She knows exactly what it is without needing to activate the message. It’s a summons for an Imperial Council meeting. She got one this morning.

“Is the prince in trouble, my lady?’

Beverly looks back into the room, and her eyes land on a huge photograph pasted to one of the walls. It’s of a smiling George Denbrough, next to his big brother Bill.

“What do you think you’re doing, Eddie?” Beverly whispers to the room. When the walls refuse to respond, she takes a deep breath and fishes a pendant from under her top.  “You’re gonna hate me for this, but you left me with no choice.”

As she closes her eyes, the metal burns and the silver locket lights up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

For the third time that afternoon, Eddie wishes he should’ve brought Silver with him.

“Are you _sure_ this is the only way out?”

It’s a pointless question, and Eddie knows it. He has seen enough maps of the Square to know that there _is_ no other way, if you wish to get to the other side without being seen by city guards. Still, it doesn’t make the journey any easier, or his heart beat any slower at the sight of overgrown trees flanking them on either side.

The pixie with him, however, stops so suddenly Eddie has to quickly suspend his own walking, else he will tumble over his tiny companion and he’ll end up with an angry fairy instead of just a mildly-annoyed one.

Ruby - the same mildly-annoyed fairy who has been guiding him through a less-travelled path across the Franklin Square for the better part of the afternoon – turns to glare at him, her tiny fists on her tiny hips, sporting a scowl on her tiny, glittering face.

Despite her stature, Ruby somehow manages to look very terrifying, and Eddie straightens. “Right. Sorry.”

Both prince and pixie exited the palace walls a good hour and half ago, and they opted to take the quickest available shortcut out of the famed park – through the woods.

The current trek is already beginning to make Eddie’s feet hurt, and he’s starting to feel his breath thinning. The wild shrubbery and uneven land all add to the discomfort of his fancy shoes, and the prince’s mind once again goes back to the shiny automobile parked in one of the castle’s basements.

Silver, the beloved name of the car he’s spent the last three weeks repairing, will easily get them across all terrains, and is just about the fastest four-wheeled vehicle in the whole Citadel.

In theory, that is.

After they found it floating in the Verona River two days after Bill disappeared, Eddie has yet to find the right time to test drive it again.

“I never- I don’t think I ever remembered the Square to be this big, you know. I feel like we’ve been walking for _ages_.”

Ruby continues to move past more trees, seemingly deeming Eddie to be unworthy of even a sideways glance.

As he ducks to avoid another stray branch, he expels all thoughts of cars from his mind.  A vehicle will almost certainly land him a date with Captain Nell and a delightful two-month lockdown under the watchful eyes of his mother. A car is definitely a stupid idea.

Besides, Silver isn’t his. And automobiles aren’t meant for princes.

“Are we _there_ yet?”

The pixie _does_ stop this time, and whirls to give him a pointed look. With her red hair and menacing glare, Eddie notes that his fairy guide bears a striking resemblance to one Beverly Marsh. The thought make him snort.

“Sorry,” he says when Ruby huffs . “It’s just...for moment there you looked just like my- HEY!”

Eddie suddenly drops to the ground when the pixie moves as if to claw at his eyes, and has barely enough sense to land on a good arm than on his face. He finds himself crouched behind a tree, with both of Ruby’s hands on his lips. Before he can grumble at the unanticipated tumble, he hears twigs snapping, and the unmistakable sound of boots against dried leaves.

As if sensing his realization, Ruby shoots him a condescending smile, which he sees through crossed eyes.

The footsteps grow louder, and Eddie can count at least three unidentified individuals coming their way. When the voices seem to be less than three yards away, they both immediately recognize their new companions.

It's true that there are some parts of the Square the City Watch no longer bothers to patrol. But it doesn't mean _no one else_ does.

Rangers.

Vicious, half-mechanical, humanoid panthers that guard the...wilder parts of Franklin Square. Including the woods.

Ruby, significantly smaller and has the advantage of flight, leaves his face and flies a little higher. When she returns a few moments later, she nods, confirming their shared fear.

“Perfect,” Eddie mutters. “Just per-”

The prince stifles what would’ve been a very loud cry when he feels something burn in his left foot. Quickly pulling his pant leg up, he goes a little dizzy when he sees the silver jewelry adorning his left ankle is burning in a bright, blue light.

“Seriously?!” He gives Ruby a desperate look, his vision a fog of pain and fear and breathlessness. He knows exactly what it means, and not for the first time in his life, Eddie swears he has the worst best friend in the realm.

The glowing piece of enchanted metal was a birthday gift from Beverly. The anklet, which he found out four days later is a tracking device masquerading as a symbol of their lifelong friendship, was given to him because his best friend got it into her mind that he’s going crazy. Sure, his other best friend’s disappearance the night before the prince’s nineteenth nameday caused him to go a little paranoid, but Beverly’s insistence that he wear it so she has a means of locating him when the worst happens is a little over the top.

Surely going on a little trip with one of her most hated creatures to a possible abduction site is not a _worst_ time.

Ruby flies next to his foot, giving the glowing chain a puzzled look.

Unfortunately for them, Bev seems to think so.

Eddie continues to suck in quiet little breaths when they hear the footsteps stop, just a few trees behind them. Ruby tucks herself on his shoulder, and he tries to sit as still as he can with his throbbing foot.

Though not as tiny as his little friend, Eddie has always been too small for his age, up until his boyhood days ended. Bill and Beverly, who shot up in their teenage years and left Eddie behind, both consider it an advantage whenever they play hide-and-seek. Eddie, who was small and quiet, was almost impossible to find.

Eddie never told them it wasn’t his size that made him good at the game. It was his imagination.

Now, finding himself in another game of hide-and-seek, but with bigger stakes, Eddie expunges all thoughts of cars, and marks, and anklets off his mind. With a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes and wills all thoughts away.

Just like the way he used to as a child, Eddie makes himself believe he is invisible. Nothing more than a strong, cold breeze in the autumn air.

He hears Ruby make a soft sound next to him, but he pays it no mind. As the shuffles of boots and leaves become farther and farther, Eddie feels himself relax.

The next time he opens his eyes, the rangers are gone, and the pain in his ankle subsides.

“We’ll have to hurry,” he tells Ruby as he gets up. “I’m sure Bev is already on her way. We’ll have to get to the symbol before she can stop me.”

Oddly enough, the pixie gives him a dumbfounded look.

“What?”

It takes a few moments, but Ruby quickly snaps out of her trance and shakes her head, resuming the walk they had before their visitors came. With a grunt, Eddie bends and unclasps the chain, giving it a pointless but stern glare.

“This is not what we talked about Bev,” he whispers at the jewelry. When Ruby makes a sharp turn, Eddie prepares to follow suit.

When he does, he collides with something hard, and Eddie, for the second time that afternoon, falls to the ground.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

When they were children, Bill had promised Eddie he’d take him to the sea.

His best friend loved the open water, and would often talk about a dream of sailing away to become a pirate, or live on an island in a far-flung place, where the air would be so clean and pure, he’d never have to worry about his breathing ever again. Eddie loved the sea, but could only recall a single memory of a childhood expedition he barely remembers.

And because the queen made the ocean as untouchable to Eddie as the rest of the realm, Bill had vowed to take the prince there himself.

The day before Eddie turned sixteen, Bill almost succeeded.

The plan had been simple.

While the queen attended a council meeting that was expected to last at least half the day, he and Eddie would take Silver to Old Cape District, where a servant friend arranged for them to meet a smuggler who would take them to the nearest sea on a small dirigible. Beverly had stayed in the castle with Georgie, keeping up a ruse that the prince was merely in his quarters all day.

Drunk on the power of a new vehicle he was gifted with on his own nameday a few months before, Bill had suggested they take the long way.

They never made it to Old Cape.

Underdwellers.

That was what his mother had told him people who lived in the Underground were called. People who refuse to swear allegiance to the Crown, and were often the cause of crime and turmoil in the Citadel. Some believe they are being assisted by dark mages, for the  City Watch still has not discovered the location of this Underground place. Only that it exists, and when on the surface, people from there will do business and thrive in Costello District – the most dangerous part of the Citadel, the farthest from the castle, way up north.

Silver ended up along the western edge of Costello, and they had fallen into the hands of Underdwellers.

Fortunately for them, none of their captors recognized the prince and only thought they caught themselves a pair of noble boys. Captain Nell and a few Crown officers immediately came to their rescue before sundown, and they were both unharmed.

But the experience left Bill with one conviction: the Underground is a terrible place, and good citizens such as himself will do well to steer clear of it.

“Hey, man. You all right?”

But maybe he was wrong.

All Bill can see are stars.

Yellow. Red. Blue. Tiny, shimmering specks of light bursting out of a bright, golden orb.

“ ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me- HEY, watch it!” He hears Richie manuevering them through a throng of people, but his voice is distant, and all Bill can focus on is the shining beacon of iridescence in the sky. It’s almost surreal in its familiarity and suddenly, Bill can smell his mother’s apple strudel, and, if he cranes his neck just a little bit, he can hear faint laughter. The laughter of a small boy, excited at the prospect of playing his boat in the rain. “I said _watch it_ , kid! You better- Bill look out!”

When he snaps out of the trance, it’s too late. Something hard hits the side of his head, causing him to lose his balance and fall on his ass.

“Ow,” he groans when his mind starts to process what happened. A brief jolt of panic grips at his chest when he opens his eyes and sees nothing but black. Before he can voice it out, bony limbs hoist him up and he’s too grateful to feel shame at being practically carried.

“What the hell happened to you!” Bill has to blink a few times before his vision returns. When it does, he sees Richie, looking bewildered and a tad annoyed. “What was that about?”

He only shrugs and starts brushing dirt off his coat, still a little dazed. As he looks down to check the state of his pants, he sees the culpable golden ball next to Richie’s boots, and he bends to pick it up.

Up close, it looks innocuous enough. Just an ordinary ball. It doesn’t at all hint at any of the starlight it displayed only moments ago.

“Umm...Bill?” He looks up at Richie, who is giving him a placating smile. “You have their toy.” He points to something behind him, and when Bill turns, he sees two kids looking at him expectantly, eyes darting between him and the object in his hand.

“Wha..?” He looks at the ball, then back at twin, hopeful eyes. “Oh!” He hands it to them so quickly the kids almost jump. “Sorry! I’m-I- Ye-yeah....Sorry.”

Thankfully, Richie cuts in before he can completely traumatize the poor children.

“I thought I told you to be careful with these things, Dorsey,” he tells the younger of the two kids, who looks up at Richie with more fascination than guilt. “You almost hit Pippa in the eye last week. You were only lucky she likes you.”

The boy named Dorsey only grins at them, showcasing two missing, front teeth.

“Shorry, Richie!”

Bill watches as Richie shakes his head, trying to hold his stern, serious face. He fails.

“Well go on, now! Before your mother sees us and blames me again.”

Both boys nod and scamper off, yelling ‘Thanks, Richie!” in glee.

“Kids, amirite?” The smuggler tells Bill as he chuckles quietly. “More trouble than they’re worth.”

For the first time in the few hours they’ve known each other, Bill can tell the guy is lying.

“Say,” Richie begins, becoming increasingly self-conscious under what Bill knows is a sceptical look that he is currently giving him. “What was the deal with that ball? You looked like you’ve seen...well, it seemed like you’ve seen a phantom or some shit.”

Bill lets his gaze wander back to the corner the kids disappeared into, more hearing his voice than actually actively saying words. “That was...that was _their_ toy?”

All at once, the events that led up to them standing where they’re standing right now crash into Bill’s still delicate mind. The diner, the boat ride, the ball of lights.  Desperately, he whips his head to take in his surroundings, and finally sees it with utmost clarity.

The Barrens.

He remembers eating the best kidney pie of his life. He remembers being ushered by Caroline out the diner’s back door. He remembers a dock, and a boat ride through a river of stars. He remembers the ogre tapping his cheek twice, affectionately, like his father used to do. He remembers the ball, and how it reminded him of Georgie.

With unshed tears, Bill breathes in the enchantment that has seemed to envelop the whole place.

Before him are rows upon rows of colourful stands and shops, each glittering under the moonlit, night sky. Folks in elaborate garbs wander about, toting children who happily play with different floating playthings. One child in a three-strand braid skips about, holding a pinwheel that displays flickering images of fairies as it spins. A pregnant woman floats three paperbags two stores down, and a boy with glowing eyes lights up a row of candles in the shop across from her with just a blow. A rush of wind topples a nearby garbage can as a flying boat zips by, just a few feet over Bill and Richie, landing on the dock where they came from moments ago.

It all reminds Bill of the Citadel’s Illumina Festival, only more. So much more.

At the corner of his eye, he sees another golden ball; the same one Dorsey and his friend had. An orb of metal painted in aurum, which spins in the air and releases a kaleidoscope of bright, star-like colors.

“It’s their toy,” he repeats, turning again to Richie but not really seeing him. His mind is still marvelling at the wonderful place that is the other side of Carol’s Diner’s back door.

“It _is_ their toy,” Richie confirms, giving Bill a stink eye he barely registers. “Why, Bill? You got a problem with that?”

His companion’s tone yanks most of his attention back to the present, and he gives Richie a puzzled look. “What? Wh-what do you m-mean?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” The guy crosses his arms and smiles at him mirthlessly, in his eyes a challenge Bill recognizes but does not understand. “You don’t think lowborn children can have enchanted toys? Are they only for nobles kids, is that what this is?”

Bill’s eyes widen the moment he comprehends the words, and he immediately backtracks. “No! No, no, no- I di-d-d-d-din-” He huffs loudly, despairing at the fact that his speech would fail him now. “I don’t. Th-think that. No. I don’t. I s-s-swe- _swear_.”

Slowly, Richie purses his lips and nods. There is still some suspicion in his eyes, so Bill soldiers on.

“The ball. M-m-my brother has one. Thought I hal-llucinated.” His gaze returns to the ball, and he fights the urge to close his eyes and remember Georgie’s own toy. “Toys like that have m- _magic_ , Richie.”

This time, he lets himself sweep across the whole Barrens; from the river behind him, to the people, who all wield the very same magic, he was taught, is not for everyone.

“Everything here is magic.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Everything here is magic._

 

Richie has done countless shady shit in his life. Most of them to survive, others to ensure he gets to keep doing what he’s doing. There are also some things he’s done simply for fun. Smuggling and swindling are not as easy as they seem, and you get to appreciate what little luxuries are afforded to you.

So yes, he has done a great many things.

But he has never brought a noble into the Barrens.

While he always keeps his ears open to all news and information available to him -  an important skill in his line of work – folks like him are not exactly privy to matters that surround the castle and great houses. The councils and Crown Officials may have their flaws, but they _are_ pretty efficient. As far as his networks are concerned, it’s all about the upcoming Forum nowadays, with the occasional whispers about a high priest’s son and the growing number of missing children. Richie’s brain is finite, so if something isn’t useful to any of his operations, it goes straight out the window.

However, there are also things that one may find.... impossible to forget. Bits of facts you’ve acquired in your formative years. Things that stick with you ‘til the end. Lessons from a lifetime ago.

So when Bill introduced himself, Richie immediately knew that shit’s about to be a whole lot more complicated.

House Denbrough is an old and proud family, with magical claims that date back as far as the time of the Goddess. The current patriarch is a member of the Imperial Council, and his wife is also a councilman and a professor in the Crown’s own Tracker Academy. They have two sons, and it would seem Bill is one of them.

He really needs to talk to Pippa as soon as possible.

“Everyone,” he hears Bill say, voice filled with the same awe Richie himself displayed years and years ago. “Everyone is just....doing magic. How....?” He turns to him, and Richie, rather uncharacteristically, struggles to find the right words to say.

Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly thinking straight when he took the guy to Carol’s. He was tired, his eyes were hurting, and the job went south faster than he expected. He should’ve known he will eventually have to do some explaining.

Ever since the boat ride, the Denbrough kid has been in some sort of....trance. Then he froze when he saw the Corcoran boy’s starball toy, and Richie almost regretted bringing him; the look on his face so desperate and _raw_ , he had to turn away for a few moments.

But as he looks at Bill now, he is beginning to think that maybe, it might not be such a bad thing. Taking him to the Barrens.

He looks like a noble, all right. His clothes are obviously bespoke, and his socks are fucking _monogrammed_. His hands are trembling, but the briefcase clutched in a death grip doesn’t at all look out of place.

And of course, the ring.

There is no denying his birth; but somehow, Richie watches the stuttering boy, and feels as though he belongs in the happiest place in the realm.

“I know you have a lot of questions, and trust me, I’d love to answer them all – if only to stop you from gaping like a dead trout – but I _really_ need to get some shut-eye.” He works one hand to massage some of the tension in his neck, the real ache completing the exhaustion he is trying to project. “It’s been a long day, man. Let’s go.”

Richie gets a few steps in before he realizes Bill hasn’t moved an inch.

“You l-li-live here?” is what he’s asked instead.

“Sure do,”  Richie says, finding he’s too drained to say anything else. He’s starting to get cranky, too, and his eyes are killing him.  “Just across the market. Now c’mon, before I change my mind and leave you here.”

The crowd is also beginning to thin, the midnight bazaar already on its last leg. It’s usually around this time when merchandise are cheapest, but Richie’s too tired to care.

They pass by Mandy’s junkshop, a few blocks before they reach his place, when Bill stops and looks back to the river, visible from a gap between two stalls that both claim to sell ‘authentic’ charmed bracelets, capable of making you invisible to City Watch guards outside. Richie can’t help but scoff . Those things are most probably fire stones at best, or dead glitterbugs stitched together at worse. Evading Aloysius Nell’s lapdogs takes years of practice. Richie can attest to that.

“Is that Verona? There’s a V-Verona _here_?”

It takes a few beats before Richie understands the question.

“What, Penobscot?”  He points to the river that connects the rocky knoll where Carol’s Diner stands to the rest of mainland Barrens. “I guess. They used to call it Pen River back in the day, in your Citadel. They only changed it when those rival elfin royalties came to town. The new name’s too fancy for this place, so we still call it Pen.”

Bill gives him the look again, the same one he had back at the dockside. The one with barely-squinted eyes and the eyebrow raise of scepticism. It’s really starting to unnerve him.

“M-mah- _my_ Citadel?”

Richie just shrugs, and goes back to walking. “It ain’t mine.”

They spend the rest of their trek in silence, which Richie, for once, appreciates. They’re just about to make one last turn when he hears Bill shout, and a speeding bicycle cuts past Richie, barely missing his already aching shoulder. Before he can yell at the rider, however, he recognizes him as one of Bowers’ underlings, and wisely bites his tongue.

“Asshole,” he mutters instead.

“You okay, ma’am?” Bill asks someone beside him. Apparently, there was also an old woman about to turn the corner, completely taken for granted by the reckless idiot.

Richie really hates those jerks.

When he moves to assist Bill, the woman raises her head, and Richie feels a genuine grin break across his face.

“Pi-”

“Oh I’m quite all right, my dear, thank you.”

The woman gives Bill the gentlest of smiles, all while shooting Richie a warning look. The act is so seamless he has to shake his head in amusement. She’s _really_ good.

Bill, who seems to have stopped breathing when he sees the granny’s sharp, grey eyes, fails to respond.

Richie finds the whole thing absolutely entertaining, and he laughs out loud, prior exhaustion all but forgotten.

“Watcha’ doin in the streets, _vieille femm_ e _?_ Eet eez vairy dangairous fair old crones lik yo to wander abut een zis time of le dai.”

Denbrough, who may not recognize his West Broadway Perfumer Matron Voice but completely understands what an _old crone_ is, smacks him at the back with his briefcase, face scarlet in embarrassment.

The woman’s glare would most likely send lesser men running for the hills, but Richie’s been at the receiving end of it for countless times already, so he keeps his cheeky grin.

When he sees a dangerous glint in those steel eyes, however, he gulps. Before she can turn the tables and grill _him_ instead, he grabs Bill by the wrist and starts to speedwalk.

“It’s kind to meet y’all ayn all,” he calls out when there’s significant distance between them and the old bat, knowing full well this particular _voice_ is one she really hates, “but we mighty have ta go now. Hope y’all don’t have any broken bones ayn all. We’ll have to hit the road now. Bye!”

“What the fuck,” Bill breathes when they reach his door. Richie would’ve commented on the strong language his noble friend just used, but he’s still savoring the joy the exchange gave him. She’ll get him, all right. But it was entirely worth it.

Bill, on the other hand, continues to worry like a hen.

“D-do you _know_ that wo-w-w-woman?” he asks him when they get inside his flat, a shabby, two-storey building that Richie’s pretty sure used to be a peanut butter shop, what with all the rats he keeps finding on a regular basis.

His place is a mess, even more than usual.

The spiderweb – the term Pippa calls his intricate panel of yarns and clippings he sets up for every job – from the last gig he took before Bill’s still occupies his corkboard, which takes up most of the southern wall. It’s facing the tattered futon he got from Old Mandy in exchange for two broken lamps he swiped from an antique shop in Costello, back in his street urchin days. There’s also a box of leftover pie Carol sent him a little over a week ago. It sits atop a pirate chest that serves as his center table.

If Bill is bothered by his taste in decor, he doesn’t show it.

Despite the presence of a stranger, Richie body relaxes at being home. Not bothering to change, he plops on his couch and prepares to doze off, when he hears someone clearing their throat.

“There’s a spare mattress in that closet.” He points to a small door beside his fridge. “Settle anywhere you want, but don’t go upstairs.”

There’s only silence for a long moment, and Richie opens an eye to see if Bill is still breathing.

But he’s still there, standing over his futon like an aristocrat angel of death, who is also late to a business meeting in Franklin Square.

“What.”

Bill looks around the flat and soon drags a stool Richie doesn’t even know he owned.

“I n-n-need an explan-nation,” Bill begins.  His eyes are wild, but not like Henry’s. He just looks desperate, and Richie has to wonder again exactly what a guy like him can be so desperate about. “This place. What you n-n-know. Tell me. Please.”

Before his companion can fully disappear in his deteriorating eyesight, Richie stands and waltzes to the kitchen, coming back a minute later with eyeglasses and two bottles of brown ale.

“I hope you drink.” He sighs a he hands him one bottle, slowly accepting the fact that he’s never gonna get any sleep before sunrise. “Because you need to be drunk for this.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dorsey liked his brother enough, but sometimes, he can really be a turd.

Their mother hates it when they play at midnight, even when all the other kids are out. It was dangerous, she’d say. And their father usually comes home at midnight, so if he doesn’t see them at home when he arrives, he’d always take them up for it, and Dorsey never liked being taken up.

He wasn’t their father though, not really. But their mother told them to call him as such. So when Eddie came to the dinner table one night, with a busted lip and calling Richard Macklin father, well, Dorsey did the same, as any doting little brother would.

Eddie is pretty cool. He was named after some dead king, he told him, and he enjoys playing one whenever they’re out with other children. Dorsey’s fine with it. He liked being a mage more.

He was out with his friend Ollie last night, because Ollie had a new starball. He likes starballs, and he sometimes plays with Eddie’s old one. He hit Richie’s friend, but he seems cool enough not to yell at them. And Richie’s always been cool, too.

But Eddie told their mother, and she was pretty angry. In fact, she was already angry because it’s already been a few hours past midnight, and their father still had not arrived.

Then, a man knocked on their door and told their mother something he couldn’t quite hear.  After that, he and Eddie were immediately dressed in outer clothes and ushered outside.

He told his mother he was hungry and wanted fries, but they didn’t ride the boat, which would take them to where the food place was. They went through an entirely different door, near the Dumps, and suddenly, they were back in the Siddel.

Dorsey never liked the Siddel, where they had to wear different clothes, and he can’t make sparks with his fingers, and where Eddie can’t make something fly.

His mother is now talking to another man, and Dorsey hears some of the words. Apparently his father was caught by guards. That doesn’t sound good.

Eddie, who was always more tough than him and never cared for their father, quickly ran off when he saw a stray cat. Dorsey knows the conversation between his mother and the man will be long, judging by the way his mother’s shoulders are slumped, like she’s about to cry. Because he’s determined to get back at his brother for ratting him out, Dorsey quietly slips out of his mother’s sight, and looks for Eddie.

The problem is, Dorsey isn’t as familiar with the Siddel as he is with home, so gets lost pretty fast. But contrary to what his father would say, Dorsey is not a baby, and he doesn’t cry easily.

He turns corner after corner, following every cat he can find, hoping it will lead him to his brother. He finds a third cat, one that might look just like the one Eddie followed, when he hears his voice.

“Eddie!” he calls out,  slowly getting worried as he stumbles upon a dark alley. “Eddie, aw you hee’?”

“Dorsey, up here!”

“Eddie?”

The street he is on is not in his home, so Dorsey really has no idea where he is. The end of the alley is dark, and he doesn’t wanna go in, but he hears Eddie’s voice, so he continues.

“Eddie, weh’ aw you?”

When Dorsey reaches the end of the pathway, something steps out of the shadows.

“I’m here, little Dorsey,” says the creature, which has Eddie’s voice but not Eddie’s face.

The last thing Dorsey Corcoran sees is a pair of bright, yellow eyes, before everything fades to nothingness.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](https://arya-silvertongue.tumblr.com/).  
> [This fic's side-blog](https://the-elven-star.tumblr.com/) Hit me up!  
>   
>  Again, comments (positive AND negative) will be very much appreciated. Mwah!


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